You cannot stop me. You cannot kill me. Soon, I will be inside of your home.
You do not want me to come inside your home? I would very much like to be inside your home. I could easily place myself in your car or even your purse, but that will not please me. It is not my desire. No, I plan to come completely unimpeded into your house.
Who do you think I am? What do you think I am? I am not a child. I am not human. I am ageless. I am flat. I am Stanley. I am coming across the threshold that separates the outside from the inside that you consider your domicile.
When I was flattened by that bulletin board, the only part of my humanity not squeezed out of me like toothpaste was an unquenchable thirst for exploration. It drives me. There is not one inch of land I don’t plan to probe. Why would I skip the place where you live?
Your front door is locked. You asked with a polite smile that I don’t come inside your house. Your pleas don’t register to me. Your house? No, your home. Your house is not important. You are not special. No matter how monumental a moment in your petty little life this is, it is nothing to me but an inevitability coming to pass.
Just like the falling of the sun guarantees darkness, I guarantee I’ll come inside your home.
I have been everywhere this fragile world boasts. Every nook and cranny. My own parents rolled me up and mailed me to California moments after the incident. Children have carried me to the top of the Eiffel Tower, the coliseum of Rome, and the pyramids of Giza. How vain are you to believe for even a moment that antiquated doors and walls could keep me out of your abode?
I am flat Stanley, I am going to come inside your home, and you will be there when I do.